


Won't Treat You Like You're Typical

by Zee (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, College Student Stiles, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frottage, Fuck Or Die, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Makeouts, Oral Sex, Pack Dynamics, Rimming, Seduction, experienced stiles, slutty stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You think this is funny?" Derek says, turning his glare on Stiles' stupid smirking face. </p>
<p>"I think it's hilarious," Stiles says, shrugging when Derek looks incredulous. "Dude, it's not like it's forever, we'll just have a few sleepovers until the hunters see that all the werewolves in town are properly tamed by their human mates and move on. And then I'll have an awesome who-I-did-over-Summer-vacation story when Fall Semester starts!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Treat You Like You're Typical

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, this never would have been written without Lea, who is in fact the bomb. Title is taken from the song "Closer" by Tegan and Sara.

Derek can feel heat rising his cheeks, and he tries to focus on keeping his heartbeat steady and his voice calm and strong. "Come again? Pretty sure I misheard that suggestion."

Scott cringes and squirms; Isaac fills in, looking like he's trying hard to keep a straight face. "It's simple. These hunters won't target wolves who've mated with a human; you're the only one of us who isn't currently dating a human; and Stiles is the only human you know and trust who's single, therefore..." He doesn't bother finishing the proposal, instead letting a vague hand wave fill in for the conclusion.

Scott, Isaac, Erica and Boyd are all staring at him, looking guilty but resolute, and Derek realizes that they must have discussed this before he called the meeting--they're all here because they're worried about him, not for their own safety. 

"I'm not the only one," Derek says. "Erica's not seeing anyone."

"Not true! I've been with Carl for a few weeks now."

Derek blinks. "Who the hell is Carl?"

Erica shrugs. "Guess I haven't gotten around to introducing you yet."

Erica hasn't introduced Derek to any boyfriends before. He had just assumed she never dated anyone. "Boyd--"

"Still with Lydia. And yes, the bond still works if it's long-distance," Boyd says. "And Isaac--sorry, remind me of your guy's name again?"

"Grayson. And it's coming up on our three month anniversary," Isaac says, shooting Boyd a dirty look. 

Derek has clearly not put enough effort into keeping in touch with his pack while they're off at college, because all of this is news to him. He makes a mental note to get the full names and addresses of all the strangers that his pack have seen fit to trust as their mates. As for right now-- "I'm not dating Stiles."

"Actually, it would mean more than just dating," Erica says cheerfully. "A 'mate' bond requires--"

"I know what a mate means," Derek snaps. "It's not an option in this case."

"Look, we're not thrilled about this either," Scott says, and he at least has the grace to look nervous and uncertain about giving his best friend to Derek to fuck, unlike the rest of the pack who clearly haven't thought this through. "But it's the only way! Otherwise they'll go after you, and we've seen them take out alphas with half the numbers that they've got stationed here."

"I can handle it," Derek says.

"Bullshit! You're our alpha, we're not just going to let you throw your life away out of stubbornness," Scott says, getting pissed now. Beside him, Stiles has been standing against the wall with his hands in his pockets, not participating in the conversation. Now he looks up, a half-smile on his face.

"Guys, guys. Maybe it's time to try the carrot approach over the stick. I mean, we haven't explained the comprehensive Benefits Package you get by making me your mate. I can make all your parking tickets go away, and that's just the beginning."

"You think this is funny?" Derek says, turning his glare on Stiles' stupid smirking face. He's getting flashbacks to the way things were when he first met Scott and Stiles and spent most of his time wanting to throttle both of them because they never took things seriously enough.

"I think it's hilarious," Stiles says, shrugging when Derek looks incredulous. "Dude, it's not like it's forever, we'll just have a few sleepovers until the hunters see that all the werewolves in town are properly tamed by their human mates and move on. And then I'll have an awesome who-I-did-over-Summer-vacation story when Fall Semester starts!"

Derek crosses his arms over his chest and tells himself there's nothing obscene about the way Stiles is looking at him. "That's going to be one short story, considering it begins and ends with me saying no."

"Derek," Boyd starts, but Derek is already backing out the door.

"We're done here," he says, and he's still faster than all of them. He manages to escape to his car before anyone can voice any protests, but not before he hears Stiles start laughing.

This is ridiculous, and his pack must know it’s ridiculous. Just because it’s been a few years since they’ve had to face any kind of serious threat doesn’t mean that they can’t handle a new group of hunters in town-- _without_ anyone being forced to have sex with anyone else. Derek will fight through this, the way he’s always done. There’s no need to involve Stiles in some kind of elaborate scheme to trick his enemies instead.

It’s definitely for the best that the rest of his pack won’t be targeted, but Derek is unfortunately aware that the result of their safety means that the entirety of this new clan of hunters is freed up to focus on him. There’s a smell of new strangers on the corner of his street, and although that could mean anyone, it makes him uneasy; there’s a car he doesn’t recognize parked across the street from his apartment, although it only stays there for ten minutes. He gets weird looks in the grocery store for constantly looking over his shoulder, and someone tails him through several intersections and turns before he shakes them. No hunter would be shaken that easily, so it could just be coincidental, or it could be a test, something to test his awareness and feel him out.

It was like this when he first moved to Beacon Hills. He’d been on constant high-alert, always aware of his surroundings, always looking for potential threats, never really getting any sleep and never even allowing himself to live in a real home. It’s barely been a year since the Argents moved away and his betas and Scott (even if Scott finally, reluctantly joined forces with him all of six months before leaving town, Derek’s never going to be able to think of him as ‘his’ beta) graduated high school and dispersed and things finally got a little more quiet around Derek. He hasn’t had a chance to really get used to it yet, and he definitely hasn’t missed the need for vigilance.

But why bother being surprised that people want him dead again? He should know by now that quiet spells will never last, and someone will always make him fight for his life.

He’s on edge when he gets home from the store, and seeing Stiles waiting on his porch puts him on edge in a completely different way. He keeps the car idling for a few moments after he pulls up and seriously considers just driving away again, but Stiles will just find him later. 

Stiles is already smirking when Derek walks up, but he’s able to mitigate the inevitable mocking somewhat by dumping a bag of groceries in Stiles’ arms before he can open his mouth. “What do you want.”

"Relax, I'm not going to jump you," Stiles says. He shifts the bag onto one hip to free up a hand. "Are there more bags still in the car?"

"Uh," Derek says, but Stiles is already sauntering over to get the remaining two bags out of the backseat. Derek hadn't meant to suggest--fuck, he's known Stiles for years, so who cares if he carries Derek's groceries? It's probably just the context that's making everything seem horrifyingly intimate.

Stiles follows Derek into the kitchen and sets the bags down on the counter, already going through Derek's cupboards to put things away. "It doesn't have to be me, you know."

Derek leans back against the counter across from Stiles and wishes his kitchen were less narrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Finding you a human mate. It doesn't have to be me, we all just thought you'd be more comfortable with someone you knew." Stiles turns around, very clearly trying to look earnestly helpful instead of delighted at Derek's predicament. "But if you'd prefer a stranger, it's not like that'd be difficult. Do you know how many lonely single people I know who would trip over themselves to buy you dinner? Give me two seconds on my phone and I’ll have someone ready to take you out. And I know what you’re thinking, your conversation skills might present a problem in terms of getting a _second_ date, but all you have to do is take your shirt off and boom, they won’t care that you’re basically Jack Lemmon or whatever. "

Derek feels his face heat up again, and this time there's no stopping the blush. "You think I would just--with a random stranger?"

"Hey, it would be a cute, friendly random stranger."

Derek tries to look anywhere but at Stiles' face. He can't believe this is happening. He can't believe that Stiles and the rest of his pack think that he's just going to share his bed with someone on a whim like this. "Definitely not. A mate bond is supposed to be--not this."

Stiles stares at him for a few moments, his lips parted and his face scrunched up like he's studying Derek. "Huh. You know, I think this is the first time I've ever seen you _scandalized_ by something."

Derek pushes off the counter and moves toward his room. He doesn't have to take this. "You can see yourself out."

"Hey, c'mon I'm sorry, don't be like that." Stiles is quick, and he slips past Derek to position himself in the open doorway to Derek's bedroom. "It's 100% reasonable to not wanna do this with any old hookup, which is why I offered my own personal services in the first place. Just--try to think of this like a friendship thing, you know? Like we're using sex to cement our pre-existing bond of trust and brotherhood." He gives Derek a shoulder slap, and lets his hand linger on Derek's bicep. 

"That's not what sex is about. It's not about friendship or brotherhood," Derek says. It's more than that, at least to Derek. 

Stiles hesitates before replying. "Okay, don't be mad, but serious question: would it help if we could somehow get you drunk or stoned first? Scott says he's found this special kind of wolfsbane that-"

"Shut up. Stop talking."

"For real though, there's gotta be something we can do to make you feel more comfortable with this. I don't know, do you like doing it in the dark, or outside, or do you want to use toys or get a third person involved as a buffer? Do you need to, um, get all wolfy mid-coitus? That would normally be a deal-breaker for me, but this is life or death we're talking about here."

Derek just stares as Stiles rattles off all the questions like they're completely normal considerations. It's difficult to wrap his mind around the fact that this conversation is actually happening, that Stiles actually expects Derek to talk about sex with him. 

"How can you be so blasé about this?" He asks eventually. "Last year you would completely freak out any time a girl so much as talked to you."

Stiles grins. "I know I’m the first person to have ever discovered this, but college is different from high school. I’m not saying that I’m like, Mr. Popular at UCSD, but I do all right, especially in the gay crowd. And they're a lot less uptight about casual hookups, you know? Like, people in college really understand that sex doesn't have to be a big deal and that dating around can be healthy."

Derek wants to tell Stiles that he sounds like every other 19-year-old idiot who's gotten laid a few times and thinks they're an expert. Because he's been trying to be less of an asshole lately, he restricts himself to an eye roll. "I'm thrilled for you, but why don't you stick to applying your new philosophy to your fellow freshmen."

"Hey, I'm now a sophomore, thank you very much."

"Whatever," Derek snaps. "You're not gonna change my mind on this, so just go."

"Derek," Stiles says, the grin sliding off his face. He reaches out and touches Derek's arm again, his fingers resting above Derek's elbow. "Why try to fight your way out of this one when the odds are really really good that it'll kill you? Why choose that when you have another option?"

Derek feels his breath catch. It's not just Stiles' confidence that has changed in the past year: ever since he got back to Beacon Hills, the too-large flannel shirts are all but gone, and today he's wearing a thin, worn gray t-shirt, and it couldn't be described as baggy. It’s--it’s not a big deal, it’s the same kind of t-shirt that most men on the planet wear when they wear t-shirts. But it stretches over Stiles’ chest in a way that makes Derek want to stare harder to try and see Stiles’ nipples, and when Derek glances down, he can see that the shift is riding up a bit, exposing a slight strip of pale skin on Stiles' hip.

Derek shrugs off Stiles' hand. "I'm handling this my way," he says. "And we're done here."

Stiles sighs. "You're impossible. I really hope you don't die though."

Derek sees him to the front door, and when Stiles is out the door he laughs and says over his shoulder, "it's a good thing I've had plenty of practice with people I crush on rejecting me, otherwise this would be pretty devastating."

Derek grips the open door hard. "What?"

Stiles just shrugs a shoulder. "I'm just saying. If this were happening back in high school when I was a lonely virgin, I'd have to go cry on Scott's shoulder. But it's cool, I mean, I know not to  
take it personally."

Stiles meets Derek's eyes calmly, but there's something in his tone of voice, something slightly bitter or frustrated or hurt, that suggests he's not feeling as glib about this as he's seemed. Derek opens his mouth to say something, who knows what, but Stiles is already laughing, waving, and walking away. 

He doesn’t look disappointed that Derek’s said no; he doesn’t look like he cares at all. Derek shakes it off.

Scott calls him early the next morning, and any hopes that Derek had entertained about his pack dropping this subject are dashed. He ignores the first call, but Scott just calls again, and Derek doesn’t want him to actually show up on Derek’s doorstep so he picks up the third call. “Scott, I’m not in the mood--”

“Derek, please,” Scott says, and Derek’s words stick in his throat. “We’re all really, seriously worried about you and if there were another way to keep you safe then we would do that, but there _isn’t._ ”

Derek swallows. “It’s not the pack’s job to keep the alpha safe. Other way around.”

“Bullshit! Look, I mean--it’s your decision, okay, it’s not like we can lock you and Stiles in a room and refuse to let you out until--”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Derek finishes.

“Right, because I’m really enjoying having so many discussions about whether or not my best friend since kindergarten is going to have sex with you,” Scott says acidly. “It’s your decision and all, but you’re making the worst decision possible and I really thought that in the last two years we’d gotten you past the point of automatically making the worst decision possible.”

“Shut up,” Derek says glumly. 

“I just don’t see why--”

“Because I’m not going to have sex with someone just because it will get me out of a bad situation,” Derek says, and he’s very glad that at least Scott isn’t here to have this humiliating conversation in person. “That’s not who I am, it’s not what I do. When you’re with someone, that’s--it should be special.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, and Derek vows to himself that if Scott laughs, he’s kicked out of the pack, no question. But Scott just sighs, and there’s the muffled static-y noise of a phone being handed to someone else, and then Allison is talking to him.

“Derek,” she says. “My dad was the one who tipped me off about who these hunters are and what they do. He’s--he doesn’t want them to be here because they’re too destructive, too violent. When I asked him how bad they were in comparison to Gerard, he said that they make Gerard look tame.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say. He and Allison are--well, she’s never going to forget that it’s his fault her mother died. They’ve been somewhat on speaking terms since Scott joined his pack, but. He had not been expecting her to chime in on this.

“I’m watching my back,” he says eventually, and Allison snorts.

“I’m sure you are. But that’s not enough. These guys are very... they’re efficient. And if your pack is involved with protecting you, then it won’t matter that Scott and Isaac and Erica and Boyd all have human mates. They’ll be deemed threats, too.”

Derek swallows. “I won’t let that happen.”

“No, you won’t,” Allison says, her voice firm. “I’m _sure_ you wouldn’t let your gentlemanly notions about sex and dating get in the way of keeping Scott safe, right?”

The threat is abundantly clear. And Derek is not afraid of Allison, per se, but he doesn’t want the Argents on his bad side again. “Right,” he mutters.

“So either take the easiest, safest, cleanest way out, or find another way,” Allison says, and hangs up.

Derek leaves his phone in another room and goes to sit on his back porch, staring up at the tree branches that hang over his backyard. The thought of turning his pack into targets for his sake when they would otherwise be safe is--well, it’s not an option. Allison’s right. But when he thinks about letting Stiles kiss him and touch him and get him naked and knowing that Stiles is only doing it because he’d rather Derek not die, knowing that it means nothing--

And Derek can’t do it with anyone else. Derek doesn’t want anyone else.

Which gives him only one choice. It takes him longer than it should to pack his things, because he’s miserable about it, and he owns more things, is attached to more things than he was the last time he had to leave town unexpectedly. He doesn’t want to leave behind his high-thread-count sheets, or his nice kitchen set-up or the comfy sofa chair he’s taken to falling asleep in on the nights when the insomnia or the nightmares get too awful. He doesn’t want to leave the house that he’s rented for a whole year and a half now, and its front door that always takes him a whole minute to get open because the lock sticks, and its faulty-to-non-existent air-conditioning. It’s been a quiet year, with most of the people he knows in this town being away in college and no one actively trying to kill him, and he’d been surprised by how much he hadn’t minded; by how easy it had been to settle into a routine. Sure, it was a routine that hadn’t involved any kind of interaction with others 90% of the time, and maybe it had made him somewhat lonely, but--it had been miles better than having to make survival his chief priority day after day after day.

And then his pack had returned, and he’d had his house and his routine and his life with the addition of other people in it, and it was--well. It was something that Derek shouldn’t have allowed himself to get used to, of course. 

Derek is so preoccupied that he doesn’t hear another car pull up, and when he opens the door to head out, Stiles is standing right there, one hand raised to knock. 

“Whoa, hi,” Stiles says. Derek watches him take in the duffel bag in Derek’s hand and the packed suitcases behind him. Stiles’ eyes widened. “You’re--holy shit, are you leaving? You fucking _are,_ your solution to this problem is to just _leave town,_ holy shit.”

Derek should really just shove Stiles to the side and continue leaving, but instead he drops the bag. “Are you--you have a DVD in your hand.”

“So I do,” Stiles says, brandishing the item in question and glaring. “‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit,’ which we are now going to watch together on your couch, you asshole.”

“I--I was just leaving--”

“No!” Stiles shouts, shoving the DVD at Derek’s chest. “You can’t just take off, okay? You can’t just fucking leave because you’re freaked out that people need you to be alive and responsible!”

Derek takes the DVD involuntarily. “That’s not--”

“Shut up. You’d rather die, you’d rather abandon your friends and the people who need you rather than touch me,” Stiles says. “And that’s fine, that’s whatever, but don’t fucking stand there and tell me that leaving is the logical choice, the best decision you could make right now when you’re really letting down everyone who cares about you.”

Stiles’ cheeks are bright red and his chest is heaving; it’s the most emotion Derek has seen him display about the situation yet. It shouldn’t matter. Stiles can’t physically stop Derek from leaving. And Stiles is wrong--this is the only decision that Derek can make and live with. 

But Derek doesn’t do anything to stop it when Stiles shoulders past him into the apartment and says, “Do you have any popcorn? Does a jerk who plans to leave behind his friends and his life the second the going gets tough even keep popcorn in the cupboard?”

“There’s some over the stove,” Derek says, listlessly following Stiles into the kitchen. “We’re not doing this. You need to go home.”

Stiles grabs the jar of unpopped corn out of the cupboard and scowls at Derek like a murderer. “You are aware that you can buy popcorn in convenient, microwavable bags, right? You don’t have to do it in a skillet on the stove like a freaking caveman?”

“Oh come on, it barely takes any time to do it the right way,” Derek says as Stiles angrily gets out butter and a pot. “And--look, this isn’t going to work, so you should just leave, all right?”

“You’re right, it’s not going to work, I’m probably going to burn half and leave the other half unpopped because I’m used to just doing this in a bag in the microwave like every other normal person does,” Stiles snaps.

“No, I meant--I know that the only reason you came over here was to seduce me--” 

“‘Seduce,’ are you serious, are we trapped in a romance novel or--”

“And it’s not going to work, because I’m onto you, so you might as well leave,” Derek finishes. 

“I’m perfectly capable of ‘seducing’ someone even if they’re well aware that I’m trying to ‘seduce’ them,” Stiles says, using excessive airquotes. “And I’m not leaving. We are going to sit next to each other on this couch and eat popcorn and watch a great movie that I’m betting money you’ve never seen because you’ve never seen anything, and if by the end of it you don’t want to at the very least make out with me that’s fine and I’ll leave you alone forever, but I’m not gonna give up without at least _trying_ to drag you back from the brink of boneheaded, pointless death or boneheaded, pointless life as a fugitive.”

Stiles turns back to the popcorn, buttering the pot and dumping in the kernels as if they’ve personally offended him. Derek could still leave. He could leave Stiles with the movie and the inconvenient stovetop popcorn and take his bags and drive out of town. He doesn’t have to take this. 

Derek sits down on the couch and waits for Stiles to finish with the popcorn. Stiles is wrong: Derek has seen _Who Framed Roger Rabbit,_ but not since he was seven years old, and all he remembers is being frightened of the cartoon villain.

Derek is tensed to fend off some kind of personal space invasion when Stiles finishes in the kitchen and comes to watch the movie, but Stiles doesn’t try anything--he sits on the far side of the couch and sets the popcorn bowl between them. 

“Have I mentioned that this whole movie date is doomed to fail as a subterfuge because it’s too obvious?” Derek says, one last stab at canceling the whole operation.

“Subterfuge, really? I’m not the bad guy here. This is for your own good.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Right. It’s just like eating my vegetables.”

Stiles gives a snort of laughter. “Yep. Dating me is a crucial part of a balanced diet.”

Derek gets up to queue up the DVD, hiding his smile. He’s always surprised when he can actually make Stiles laugh on purpose. Then he wonders if laughing at Derek’s jokes is part of Stiles’ seduction plan, and doesn’t feel nearly as pleased.

Stiles gets into the movie to an aggravating degree, telegraphing jokes or plot developments right before they happen: “Oh yeah, I love this part,” “I’ve watched this scene 100 times on Youtube,” “I swear this part is one of my earliest childhood memories.” He just throws popcorn at Derek’s head when Derek grumbles about it.

He also blatantly stares every time Derek laughs. Halfway into the movie, Derek’s had enough. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he snaps.

“I’ll take playground retorts for 1000, Alex,” Stiles says, not remorseful at all. “Seeing you laugh is still very much a novelty, dude. Maybe I _will_ take a picture.”

“I’m never watching a movie with you again,” Derek mutters, and feels a piece of popcorn hit his ear. “And if you start a food fight with me,” he continues, raising his voice. “I won’t let it get physical or fun, I’ll just end it. Violently.”

“Oh my god, how much of an evil genius do you think I am? I’m going to lure you into sexy wrestling through a food fight, seriously?” But Stiles only waits a beat before grinning and throwing popcorn again.

“Stiles--”

“Hey, you gave me the idea and it’s a good one--”

Derek grabs the wrist that’s poised to throw, but Stiles is quicker than Derek had realized, and he uses his free hand to lunge forward and stuff popcorn down the collar of Derek’s t-shirt. From there it devolves predictably, but it’s surprisingly difficult to immobilize Stiles, even with werewolf strength (he’s too squirmy and it keeps Derek off balance), and Derek isn’t able to pin him down until they’ve rolled off the couch and crashed into his coffee table.

“Ow,” Stiles says without any real feeling. Derek has his hands pinned over his head, Stiles’ skinny wrists flexing against Derek’s palms, and he’s staring at Derek’s mouth with wide eyes.

The movie is still going on in the background. Derek should sit up and get back on the couch so he doesn’t miss anything. He should ignore the way Stiles is looking at him because he already knows it’s not real; how stupid does Stiles think he is? 

Whatever. If Stiles wants to try and drive him crazy, two can play that game. Derek leans in close enough to speak against the soft hairs at the side of Stiles’ jaw. This close, he can hear the stutter in Stiles’ breath and the unsteady thumps of his heart beat like cymbal crashes. “You’re being way too obvious.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles says. His voice is hoarse and thin. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not sincere.”

Derek’s mind catches on the last word and fumbles, not knowing what to do. He pulls back and sits all the way up, letting go of Stiles’ hands. “What does that mean?”

Stiles blinks up at him, his cheeks still red. “I, um--”

“You want to do this because I’ll die otherwise,” Derek says, and Stiles just nods. “Would you still want it if no one’s life was at stake?”

Derek can hear his own voice coming out demanding and rigid; he sounds like he’s interrogating a suspect, not discussing the possibility of sex. He can only imagine how crazy and stiff he must seem to Stiles, especially after a school year of girls and boys who treated the choice of sex with him as casually as the choice of which outfit to wear. Derek knows what it must be like; even when he was living in an abandoned train car, he still couldn’t escape all the articles about “hook-up culture.”

Stiles opens his mouth and closes it, breaking eye contact for a second before looking up again at Derek. “Well, yeah,” he says. “Look in the mirror Derek, I’d have to be crazy not to.”

It’s probably the best answer Derek could have hoped for, certainly better than ‘no, I find you completely repulsive.’ Derek hadn’t expected a declaration of love, and it’s fine if all Stiles feels is physical attraction, if Derek might as well be a Real Doll to him. It’s fine. Having sex and getting into a fake relationship with someone who’s attracted to him, even if they’re never going to have any real feelings for him--that’s better than risking his life or the life of his pack.

But it still makes Derek feel uncomfortable and embarrassed, and when he realizes that he’s still straddling Stiles’ lap, he quickly gets back to his feet and goes back to his corner of the couch. They’ve missed almost a whole scene of the movie; now Bob Hoskins is handcuffed to Roger, and Derek doesn’t know why.

Stiles is more subdued for the rest of the movie, mostly keeping quiet and only glancing at Derek when he thinks Derek won’t notice. He doesn’t make any kind of cheesy attempt to put his arm around Derek’s shoulders or get any closer. They just sit and watch the movie together, and by the end Derek has almost forgotten that Stiles is only here because he feels like he has to be, not because he wants to be. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Stiles asks when the credits roll. “Does sex with me still seem like a fate worse than death?”

Derek winces. He didn’t mean to give the impression that he found _Stiles_ repulsive. “I didn’t mean--it’s not that.”

Stiles sighs. “Right. I’ve been really trying not to feel super insulted throughout this whole thing, but you do make it hard.”

“It’s not you! You’re fine, it’s just...”

“I’m ‘fine,’ thanks,” Stiles says, for a second sounding like the constantly sarcastic, insecure teenager he was when Derek first met him. 

“You’re very attractive,” Derek says, and wonders if he could ever live it down if he grabbed one of his packed bags and made an escape out of the living room window.

But Stiles doesn’t seem interested in making fun of him or crowing over his victory in getting Derek to admit his attraction. Instead, Stiles pulls one of his feet up onto the couch, hunching over his bent knee and looking very earnest and sincere about the whole conversation. “Thanks. And, look, I don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to not want to be essentially threatened into having sex with someone because some random hunters think that you’re less dangerous if you have a human mate. I maybe could’ve been clearer about how I agree with you that this is a totally bullshit situation. But--seriously, and I’m not trying to be seductive here or anything, I just wanna know--if I’d enjoy having sex with you, and you’d enjoy having it with me, and the alternative is your freaking death, then _christ,_ why are you even considering the alternative?”

“That’s none of your business,” Derek says immediately, louder than he meant to.

“Geez, you don’t have to bark at me,” Stiles says, and rolls his eyes when Derek glares at him. “This whole thing has really made you regress back into a robot whose mood setting is permanently switched to ‘angry.’ I’m not trying to get you to confide in me or something, I was just trying to help. We’re all just trying to help.”

Derek looks away. “The pack would be better off if you’d just let me leave.”

“It kills me that you seriously believe that,” Stiles says, and Derek meets his eyes again, startled. “Have you just not been paying attention for the last three years? Your pack actually likes you now! They worry about you and pray you don’t make dumbass decisions but have stood by you when you do, and they care about you. Yes, even Scott. Even me.”

This time Stiles is the one to look away, his breath hitching. Derek stares. “Even you.”

Stiles picks at the fabric of Derek’s couch, viciously yanking on stray threads until they break. “I wouldn’t be offering this for just anyone, you know.”

“But you said, in college--”

“I know what I said. I mean yeah, sure, I’ve slept around some in school but this is still, I mean, this would still be--” Stiles swallows, finally glancing over at Derek’s face again. “Special.”

There’s still a voice in the back of Derek’s head pointing out that Stiles is probably just manipulating him, that this is still a stupid risk to take, that it’s only going to result in pain, but Derek has already said “Okay,” and Stiles has already closed the distance between them, kneeling up on the couch with his hand cupping the side of Derek’s neck. His raised eyebrows ask the question one last time, and when Derek nods, Stiles leans in and kisses him.

At first it’s just a thing that’s happening to his face, nothing special or strange, and then it gets intense much faster than Derek had been prepared for. Stiles’ hand is clutching his hair and his lips are nudging Derek’s lips open and there’s wet pressure, a _lot_ of pressure, enough that Derek has to push back or be completely overwhelmed. And then Stiles’ tongue is in his mouth, taking Derek’s dick abruptly from limp to half-hard, and each time Derek pulls back to breathe, Stiles just leans in to kiss him again.

No one has kissed Derek like this in a very, very long time. 

Stiles tries to pull away to talk, his hand still in Derek’s hair. “See? That wasn’t--”

Derek stops that sentence by kissing Stiles again, swallowing any aborted noises Stiles makes. Derek doesn’t want to talk anymore. Talking will bring back the realities of the situation and the real reason that Stiles is kissing him, and then Derek won’t be able to go through with this. So he sucks Stiles’ tongue into his mouth and pulls Stiles up close against him, until Stiles is straddling his hips, until he can feel the warmth of Stiles’ skin pressed against his whole chest. Stiles breathes in sharply when Derek touches his ribs, the side of his body, his thigh, and Derek tries not to think about how many times Stiles has done this, about how many points of reference he must have when all Derek has is this.

“Oh, oh god,” Stiles says, too loudly and right in Derek’s ear, when Derek pushes his hips up against Stiles. Against his abdomen he can feel the shape of Stiles’ erection, made vague by layers of cloth and denim. And Stiles must be aware of Derek’s own, which gives Derek the peculiar urge to laugh and push Stiles away in embarrassment. But if dry-humping on the couch is enough to make him feel shy, how is he going to handle actually getting naked and having sex?

Derek tries not to think about it, and lets Stiles kiss his way down Derek’s jaw and neck, gasping when he feels Stiles’ tongue and teeth against his throat. Stiles unbuckles Derek’s belt and pops the button on the fly of his jeans with one hand while trying to give Derek a hickey, which is honestly more physical coordination than Derek ever credited him with. 

And then Stiles’ hand is on Derek’s dick, his fingers wrapping around the shaft and his thumb sliding over the head, sliding the foreskin down, and Derek is completely unable to keep it cool.

“Ow, watch it, that’s a little tight,” Stiles says, and Derek makes an effort to loosen his arm wrapped around Stiles’ back. “You gotta give me--room to maneuver--”

Stiles wriggles back until he has room to stroke Derek’s dick, and it’s fucking good, it makes Derek dizzy to be touched like this by someone else’s hand instead of his own. But it’s difficult to just--let himself be touched, it makes Derek feel like the recipient of too much attention, too much care, and he needs--

“Jesus, okay, you could have just unzipped my fly like a normal person, you didn’t have to pop the button off like that, do I look like a guy who knows how to sew buttons back on--”

“Shut up,” Derek says, and Stiles acquiesces, biting down hard on his lip. The tip of Stiles’ cock is already slick with pre-come when Derek touches him, and it makes his palm slippery when Derek wraps his hand around the base. Stiles makes a high-pitched sound that Derek immediately wants to hear again, but then Stiles tightens his own grip on Derek’s dick, squeezing hard, and Derek’s brain completely shorts out.

“You like it hard like that? Is that how much pressure you like to use on yourself?” Stiles asks, as curious and thoughtful as he’s been the thousand times Derek has seen him investigating some new supernatural problem, and all Derek can do is stammer out a yes.

The motion of his own hand on Stiles feels sloppy, not tight or rhythmic enough, because Derek can’t think straight. But when Stiles meets his eyes there’s something glazed and helpless in his expression, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed, and neither of them looks away. Derek thinks about kissing him, but instead he just stares, holding Stiles’ gaze until Stiles makes him come, until he has to close his eyes to ride out the wave Stiles has caught him in.

When Derek comes back to himself, Stiles is still staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Derek’s hand that was jerking him off has gone slack, resting on Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles is touching himself instead, his fist sliding up and down his shaft in a clearly practiced motion. Derek feels like he should offer to finish him off, but he’s riveted by Stiles doing it for himself. It must be one of the sexiest and most private things Derek’s ever witnessed.

Stiles’ back arches into a curve when he comes, shuddering and twitching, and Derek grasps his hips to keep him steady, keep him on Derek’s lap. Then he slumps until his forehead is resting on Derek’s shoulder, his breath hot and noisy against Derek’s collarbone. There’s a wet and sticky mess between them. Derek wants to keep the weight of Stiles’ relaxed body on top of him like this forever.

He also wants to indefinitely postpone the moment when Stiles has recovered enough to talk about what just happened, but of course it happens sooner rather than later. Stiles lifts his head and sits up, already looking amused. “Wow. So, that happened.”

“This is messy,” Derek says, due to a total lack of ideas for anything else to say.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “I don’t really think of you as being super fastidious.”

“I--um,” Derek says.

“You’re blushing,” Stiles points out helpfully.

“Shut up,” Derek says, pushing Stiles off him. “This--this was enough to get the mate bond started, so you can go now.”

“Hey, sorry,” Stiles says, reaching out to touch Derek’s knee. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or awkward or whatever, I was just--” He licks his lips, and his face shifts into the same unreadable expression that he had on his face when he was watching Derek come. “We could take a shower to help with the, um, messiness. And I could spend the night. But only if you want me to, I don’t have to, I just--don’t want to just leave you if you’re not comfortable or happy with us, with this.” 

Derek looks away, willing his thumping heart to calm down. “I could use a shower.”

Stiles keeps his hands to himself in the shower, and he gives Derek’s naked body appreciative looks but doesn’t comment. Derek tries to keep his eyes on Stiles' face; he knows it's ridiculous to feel weird about seeing Stiles naked after they've just jerked each other off, but still.

After the shower, Stiles wraps one of Derek’s towels around his hips and throws himself onto Derek’s bed, bouncing on it. “Nice bed. I know that sounds like a cheesy pick-up line but for real, this feels expensive.”

“It was,” Derek says. He’s a little pleased that Stiles noticed.

Stiles gives him a cheesy grin, lying back on the bed so that his towel rides up, exposing even more pubic hair. “So what do you think? You up for round two?”

Derek hesitates, but there isn’t actually any reason to say no: he already agreed to this arrangement in the first place, and it’s temporary--which means that he should get as much of Stiles as he can, before the necessity goes away and Stiles moves on. “What did you have in mind?”

“Come here,” Stiles says, but stops Derek before he can actually get on the bed. Instead he gets on his knees and crouches down to blow Derek while Derek stands. It feels amazing but it’s--it’s not intimate, and as Derek looks down at the top of Stiles’ head, he can’t help but feel like Stiles is just doing a job. Servicing him, even if he’s happy to do it. 

Derek still comes, and Stiles swallows with perfect ease, like he’s done this so many times. Derek gets on the bed with him to reciprocate, and Stiles sighs happily and doesn’t comment when Derek chokes on him and messes up, getting come on his chin.

It’s almost unbearable to have Stiles sleeping naked next to him that’s night. The problem is that it’s so good, almost better in a way than the sex itself had been, and every part of Derek wants to be able to enjoy it. 

But it’s not real, no matter how real it feels to have Stiles breathing deep in his sleep against the back of Derek’s neck. He can’t accept this. He’s made the decision to go with Stiles’ plan to save his life, against his better judgment, but there has to be a way to protect himself while this is happening. He’s not going to let his guard down, no matter how good this feels.

***

After the first time, they don’t see each other for a few days. Derek spends the whole time focusing on household tasks he’s been putting off for ages, determined not to think about what he’s gotten himself into. But he can’t stay in denial forever, and when Stiles texts him _it can’t just be a one-night stand, remember?_ , Derek braces himself and drives over to the Stilinski house.

It’s dusk when he arrives, and the Sheriff’s car isn’t in the driveway, so Derek doesn’t have any excuse not to actually do this. He grits his teeth as he knocks on the front door; somehow he still feels afraid of rejection, even though they’ve already had sex and Stiles is fully expecting them to do it again.

Stiles looks surprised to see him when he comes to the door. “Whoa, I didn’t realize you were just gonna come over,” he says, which does nothing to help Derek’s confidence. Derek doesn’t know what to do, so he grabs Stiles’ face and kisses him, pushing him into the hallway and kicking the door shut behind him.

“Mmf,” Stiles says, his nose smushing against Derek’s cheek before he tilts his head and kisses Derek back at a better angle. His arms come up wrap around Derek’s shoulders, and if it’s not as intense as the first time they kissed on Derek’s couch--well. It is what it is. 

Derek resigns himself to getting through this and unbuckles Stiles’ belt, undoing his fly enough to get his hand in. Stiles laughs against his mouth.

“Jeez, you’re in a hurry,” Stiles says, and Derek recognizes the same almost-bitter tone in his voice from before. “Not even gonna take me to dinner first?”

Derek stops, pulling back. Stiles was the one who’d talked up the virtues of casual sex; Derek had figured that he’d want this to be strictly about sex. But that’s not what the hunters are looking for, is it? They won’t consider an alpha werewolf to be effectively subdued unless he’s mated to a human, not just using one for sex. 

“Okay,” Derek says, pulling his hand out of Stiles’ pants and taking a step back. “Where’s the closest restaurant?”

Stiles blinks at him. “I didn’t mean _now,_ ” he says, but he follows Derek to the door. “Uh, there’s a Denny’s down the street, I guess. You wanna go to Denny’s?”

“Sure,” Derek says, picking up too late that Stiles was being sarcastic. 

It’s an awkward dinner. Derek’s burger tastes terrible, and Stiles doesn’t even bother with an actual dinner, instead getting a chocolate milkshake and slurping it noisily while he people-watches the rest of the diner patrons. Derek hopes that no hunters are watching, because he doubts that he and Stiles are fooling anyone right now.

The next time, Stiles insists on coming to pick Derek up, and he upgrades them to a non-chain restaurant and takes Derek to a movie afterward, even buying him popcorn. The next day, he calls Derek to suggest a long walk in the park; that weekend, it’s another movie. 

Derek is grateful that Stiles is trying, even when Derek hasn’t been much of a help in terms of making this thing work, which he’s beginning to feel slightly guilty about. He doesn’t want to put the whole burden of carrying the relationship on Stiles. This might be a fake relationship, but it’s still not fair for Stiles to always be the one putting himself out there, the only one doing the asking.

But Stiles looks at him like he’s a lunatic when Derek gives him the tickets, and Derek immediately wishes he could take back the offer. “These are tickets to Louis C.K.’s stand-up show. The show in two days.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, trying to look anywhere but Stiles’ face. “I know it’s short notice, so if you’ve got other plans--”

“No, definitely not, it’s just. He’s my favorite comedian.”

“Yeah, I know,” Derek says. Why else would he have gotten the tickets? “You listen to his CD in the car sometimes.”

From the way Stiles is staring, Derek has a sinking feeling that he also knows that this particular show sold out weeks ago. Derek can’t stand the scrutiny. “Whatever, it’s not a big deal, I can sell the tickets or if you want to take Scott--”

“No, no I definitely wanna go,” Stiles says, quickly clutching the tickets to his chest. “I just--yeah. Thank you.”

By now Derek is starting to sweat, and he desperately needs to get away from Stiles’ eyes on him. He makes a move to leave, but Stiles touches his sleeve and deliberately steps forward to kiss him. 

And it’s--different from how they’ve kissed before. More purposeful, less sexual. Stiles doesn’t immediately slide his tongue in between Derek’s lips, and when it’s over he lingers, refusing to give Derek his personal space back. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says softly. 

Derek doesn’t know how long they stay like that, staring into each other’s eyes like two feverish idiots, but it starts to make him feel panicked, as if he’s losing control of himself and is seconds away from exposing all his helpless hopes and pushing Stiles away. So he says, “You’re welcome.”

Stiles starts and finally takes a step back. “It’ll be fun. I’m very curious to see if you’ll actually laugh at any of the jokes” he says, his voice light and casual again. The only signs that he’s not completely unfazed are his heartbeat and the color blaring in his cheeks. If Stiles were still in high school right now, would he be stuttering, or babbling, or displaying any of the other nervous tics he used to get around people he liked? 

Wishing that Stiles had grown up less confident just to make it easier for Derek to interpret whatever the hell just happened is a new low. Jesus, Derek needs to get out of here. He mutters something about calling Stiles later, and this time Stiles doesn’t stop him when he turns to leave.

The comedy show itself is not really his thing, but he loves seeing how much Stiles enjoys it. Derek gets into it as much as he can, laughing at the jokes that Stiles laughs the hardest at, but mostly it’s nice to sit back in a dark theater and just--watch Stiles as much as he wants. 

The theater _is_ dark, and--and they’re supposed to be in a relationship. Any hunters spying on him are supposed to look at this night and all their other nights and come to a very specific conclusion. As far as the outside world is concerned, they’re here because Derek bought these tickets for his boyfriend.

Derek feels slightly outside of his own body as he watches his own hand creep forward to rest on Stiles’ knee. He’s braced for Stiles to pull away or give him a weird look, but Stiles lets it happen; when Derek gets braver and touches Stiles’ hand, Stiles intertwines their fingers together. When Derek brushes his thumb against Stiles’ knuckle, Stiles squeezes his hand. 

This isn’t necessary. No one is holding a gun to Derek’s head and forcing him to hold Stiles’ hand. He doesn’t let go until the comedian leaves the stage and the lights come up. 

“Holy shit, my abs hurt from laughing,” Stiles says, holding his sides dramatically as they follow the crowd out the door. “Can a human being die from too much laughter at once? Is that, like, a thing?”

“Could be,” Derek says, shrugging. There’s no reason for the good mood he’s in, not if he were to examine the situation rationally, not if he were to remind himself of what’s really going on here, but it’s like someone dimmed the truth, made it hard for him to see. He feels a lightness in his shoulders and walking in step with Stiles to the parking lot a block away just seems right.

“You’ve got this bizarre look on your face--wait, no, never mind, it’s just a smile, which looks strange because it’s you.” Stiles takes a little skip ahead before turning around, walking backwards to look Derek in the eye. “Maybe I’m laying the gratitude on a little thick, but seriously, thanks again for tonight. You didn’t have to do any of this. It’s like you’re competing with me to see who can be the best boyfriend.”

They turn into the alley that leads to the street where they parked the Jeep, and Derek is grateful for the lack of street lamps so that Stiles can’t see the expression on his face. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though. You even pretended to laugh at all his jokes so that I wouldn’t think you hated it.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Derek objects. Stiles doesn’t contradict the lie, just shrugs.

“It was just--I don’t know, sweet of you. It was nice. You’re nice.”

Derek is speaking before he can think better of it. “Is that what you want? Someone nice?”

Stiles stops walking. Even in the unlit alley, Derek can see his eyebrows shoot up. “Like, for real?”

Derek thinks about all the ways he could get out of this conversation, and all of the reasons why that would be a good idea. He’s asking questions that he probably doesn’t want to know the answers to. “Yes.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment, his hands in his pockets, studying Derek. “Yeah, I guess so,” he says slowly. “Hooking up is fine, but I want to actually be with someone nice. Like you.”

Derek feels a rush of heat flood his body, and then he’s moving, pulling Stiles into him until there’s no space between their bodies and kissing him open-mouthed. Stiles responds, wrapping his arms around Derek’s back and digging his fingers into Derek’s hair, his other hand clenched in Derek’s jacket. Derek is holding on to Stiles just as tightly, the fabric of Stiles’ shirt soft and thin in his hands, like his hands are trying to signal to the rest of the world to back off because Stiles is his.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasps out, and Derek dimly realizes that he’s got Stiles pressed up against the alley wall. The friction of their hips pushing together feels amazing, and Derek grabs Stiles’ thigh, hitching it up at Derek’s waist to make the grind even better. Stiles acquiesces enthusiastically, wrapping his leg around Derek’s waist and letting his weight fall against the wall and Derek’s other arm, holding him up. Derek can feel the outline of Stiles’ hard cock pushing into his stomach. 

“Oh man, okay, you wanna do it an alley? That’s cool, I’m down,” Stiles says, grinning against the stubble of Derek’s jaw and moving a hand down to squeeze Derek through his jeans.

It feels amazing, but Derek stops, pulls back. “No, not here,” he says. “Let’s--I want to take you home.”

Stiles gives him a lopsided, kind of goofy smile, putting his leg back down and grabbing Derek’s hand. “Even better. Let’s go.”

The car is less than a block away, and Derek can feel the blood pounding in his ears as they walk quickly, almost running the last few yards. Stiles fumbles with his keys while starting the Jeep, and Derek can smell the desire on him, thick enough that it almost seems tangible. Derek can’t stop looking over at him while he drives, Stiles’ lips still reddened and swollen from kissing, his shirt still rucked where Derek’s hands had been. 

“I never realized that you wanted to do this for real,” Stiles says as he speeds through a yellow light, clearly feeling the moment as urgently as Derek. “I thought you didn’t want to sleep with me because you just--weren’t interested, or weren’t interested enough to want to get involved. I thought you were in a hurry to get this over with.”

Stiles is staring out at the road, his heart beat getting faster. Derek swallows. He doesn’t want to talk about this, he just wants to get back to what they started in the alley. He’ll fuck this up if he tries to talk about it. 

“Derek,” Stiles says, frowning at him when Derek doesn’t say anything.

“I--didn’t want to just get this over with, no,” Derek says. “I didn’t want to get attached and watch you leave when the hunters leave.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Stiles says immediately, as if he doesn’t even have to consider his answer for a second. “Which I would have told you if you had ever asked me. I was only playing it cool because you made it really clear in the beginning that you were extremely reluctant to get with me.”

“I--” The words stick in his throat. He doesn’t know how to explain to Derek that he’s never fucking _done this_ , not since Kate. The boy he was before her, sure, he asked girls out and took them to dances and had sweet, normal high school relationships. He knew how to tell a girl that he liked her and wanted to date her. That was before he learned the risks. 

“I have feelings for you,” he manages to get out eventually. “I have for a very long time.”

“Jesus christ,” Stiles says weakly, and finally, fucking finally he pulls up to the curb in front of Derek’s house. Derek doesn’t even have time to take off his seatbelt before Stiles is all over him again.

It’s impossible not to kiss him back, impossible to object when he gets his hands up under Derek’s shirt and runs his fingers over Derek’s ribcage before reaching down to pop the button on Derek’s fly. But Derek makes himself break away and stop Stiles’ hand. 

“Wait, please, let’s go inside. If we’re going to make love, I want to do it on a bed.”

Stiles splutters. “Okay, sorry, I am--not mature enough for that phrase. But, yes, okay, I agree, let’s go.”

When Derek finally gets Stiles into the bedroom, he pins Stiles’ wrists to the bed with one hand and starts undoing the buttons on Stiles’ dress shirt. He does it as slowly as he can stand, and Stiles’ wrists flex impatiently in his grip, but Derek isn’t going to rush this. He gets the shirt entirely unbuttoned and pushes it open, sliding his hand up under the white undershirt beneath.

“I like it when you feel me up,” Stiles says, pushing his chest against Derek’s hand when Derek’s thumb brushes a nipple. 

“Good,” Derek says, pushing the shirt up to Stiles’ armpits and leaning down to drag his teeth over Stiles’ sternum. Up close to Stiles’ skin, the smell of sweat and desire (and Derek himself--Stiles definitely smells like he’s been rubbing against a leather jacket) on Stiles’ clean skin is overwhelming, and Derek doesn’t even realize that he’s licking and biting until he hears Stiles gasp.

“I can’t believe I’m letting a werewolf bite me, I really thought I learned this lesson years ago,” Stiles says. Derek looks up.

“You’re talking more than you usually do,” he says. It’s gratifying to see how red Stiles’ face is, and his wide eyes and open mouth. It’s gratifying to see how Derek is able to work him up.

“Am I? Well, I was trying to be all cool and suave before,” Stiles says. “Also, this is definitely the most time anyone has spent up-close and personal with my chest and I keep thinking that my number of moles is gonna weird you out. Also, all this attention on me in general is making me nervous.”

“Well, get used to it, because I like paying attention,” Derek says. Stiles sticks his tongue out at him, and Derek smirks and moves lower. He has to let go of Stiles’ hands to position himself lower and work on sucking a hickey on Stiles’ hipbone, but Stiles doesn’t push him away now that he’s got his hands free. He’s trembling, but he lets Derek take his time savoring Stiles’ bare skin without trying to touch him back. 

Derek gets to have this--not just the sex, he gets to have _Stiles,_ the way he wants him. He doesn’t have to settle for something fake, expedient or practical. The thought is almost too big for him to even look at directly. 

Derek doesn’t take as much time getting Stiles’ pants off as he took with the shirt, but he still doesn’t rush the blowjob. He enjoys listening to Stiles’ babbling get increasingly incoherent, full sentences running into curse words running into choked-off noises as Derek nuzzles the cockhead and swirls his tongue over it before moving down to Stiles’ balls, mouthing them as gently as he can. Stiles shudders and twists and pushes his hips against Derek’s face, and Derek’s desire to take it slow is overtaken by the desire to see Stiles come immediately. 

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, looking up and meeting Stiles’ eyes. Stiles groans and grabs a fistful of Derek’s hair, and Derek moves his head up to suck Stiles’ cock down his throat. Stiles gets the picture, thrusting up eagerly and pulling Derek’s head down, and Derek has to concentrate on breathing through his nose as he feels the cockhead filling the back of his throat. 

Derek’s jaw has gotten sore by the time Stiles finishes thrusting and comes, and he loves it. It goes away instantly when Stiles pulls out, the pain not nearly enough to last against his natural healing ability, but Derek loves the idea that Stiles can push his body to its limits, even if the pain and bruising will never last on him. 

“Get up here,” Stiles slurs when Derek finally lets his dick slide out of his mouth. Derek acquiesces, letting Stiles give him a sloppy kiss full of tongue, letting Stiles paw at his clothes like he’s forgotten how to get a jacket and t-shirt off.

“I can’t believe you’re still fully clothed, what bullshit,” Stiles says, and Derek laughs, tugging off his t-shirt and standing briefly to get his jeans off.

Stiles rolls onto his side, propping his head up on one hand and giving Derek’s body an appraising look. “I hope you’re planning on fucking me, because that’s what’s about to happen.”

Derek swallows hard, the suggestion making his dick ache. “You want me to?”

“Yes, duh, that is exactly what I just said,” Stiles says, staring blatantly at Derek’s naked junk. “Come on already.”

Derek laughs and climbs back onto the bed. Stiles moves to kiss him, but Derek pulls away. “Turn over.”

“Fine, geez,” Stiles says, huffily rolling onto his stomach. Derek kisses a trail down his spine and when he spreads Stiles’ thighs with his hands, Stiles grabs one of Derek’s pillows to shout into it. 

Rimming Stiles has been a fantasy of Derek’s ever since Stiles’ sophomore year, when he’d first spent the night hiding in Stiles’ room and woke up to see Stiles sleepily walking around in thin, worn-in boxers that weren’t supposed to be sexy, but still showed off so much more than the baggy pants Stiles always wore back then. Derek had been horrified by how he couldn’t stop staring at Stiles’ ass, but the mortification hadn’t been enough to keep thoughts about it away whenever he jerked off in the shower. The fantasy had taken a backseat during the year that Stiles had been away at school, but he definitely remembers it now. 

Derek uses the flat of his tongue against the hole, licking long stripes over it until Stiles is begging for more. He pushes the point of his tongue in, fighting against the tight ring of muscle, getting Stiles as wet as he can. He loves this just as much as he loved sucking Stiles’ cock, loves tasting Stiles everywhere, loves opening Stiles up with his mouth. When Stiles’ asshole is slippery with spit he uses his fingers, pushing in two at a time and making Stiles yell.

“Too much?” Derek asks, but Stiles is already vigorously shaking his head.

“Fuck no, this is--yeah, _that_ \--” Stiles says, pushing back onto Derek’s knuckles. 

Derek groans and brings his mouth back down, licking in between his fingers as much as he can. He adds a third, which Stiles reacts to positively and enthusiastically, and four fingers is probably pushing it, but Stiles just opens his legs wider and keeps chanting “yes, yes, yes--”

Derek pulls up enough to see most of his hand inside Stiles, only his thumb left outside, pressing into Stiles’ thigh while he works his fingers in up to the knuckles. The image makes Derek feel faint. It’s so much, and there’s no way it doesn’t hurt, but Stiles seems to love it, shoving himself back and demanding more. 

Derek wants this to last forever, but he can’t wait any longer. He pulls his fingers out carefully and licks Stiles a few more times for good measure before getting up on his knees.

“Finally,” Stiles gasps, getting his knees under him. Derek grasps his hips and even with all the fingering Derek just did, Stiles’ hole is still agonizingly, perfectly tight when he pushes his cock in. Stiles sighs and reaches back, digging his fingers into Derek’s thigh and encouraging him to push in deep.

Derek groans when he’s in all the way. “You have no idea how much I--always, still--”

“Yeah, I know, me too,” Stiles says, somehow understanding despite the fact that Derek can’t manage a full sentence right now.

Derek’s self-control evaporates when he starts thrusting. He can’t make himself go slow, and he’s maintained his erection for so long that it doesn’t last when he starts fucking Stiles in earnest. Derek flattens himself against Stiles’ chest and wraps an arm around him when he feels the orgasm start to build, so that he can clutch Stiles to his chest when his vision goes white. 

The orgasm makes his mind thick and slow, and he vaguely registers pulling out of Stiles and slumping onto the bed next to him. The air smells like semen and sweat and human and werewolf, and when Stiles scoots over to rest his head on Derek’s heaving chest, it’s the best feeling that Derek’s experienced in years.

***

Derek wakes up alone, and panic and bitterness almost overtakes him for a second before he hears Stiles in the kitchen. Derek sits back and waits until the footsteps come back in the direction of the bedroom, and Stiles reappears swigging a beer from Derek’s fridge. He tosses a second one at Derek, who catches it gratefully. The alcohol never does much for him, but he likes the taste and he’s thirsty.

“What time is it?” he asks as Stiles settles down next to him. 

“The middle of the night, probably? I have no idea, I don’t even know where my phone is.”

They drink for a while in companionable silence. Derek realizes he doesn’t really know what to do next, doesn’t know how to have a genuine relationship, but for some reason the thought doesn’t make him feel panicked or sick. He feels like Stiles will bear with him through any mistakes or misjudgments, and that’s--

He trusts Stiles. That’s what this feeling is. 

“So I’m spending the night, obviously,” Stiles says eventually. “And I’ll probably do the same thing tomorrow night, just so you’re aware. I might go home in-between to pack up some things to bring over, or I might just resign myself to wearing the same clothes for several days in a row and stealing your toothbrush.”

Derek makes a face. “Don’t steal my toothbrush.”

Stiles grins at him. “You’re germophobic, seriously? You used to live in an abandoned train car.”

“I still never shared toothbrushes. I have lines,” Derek says, and Stiles laughs, bumps his shoulder.

“I’m fine with you spending the night,” Derek says. “Any time.” Every night, preferably. 

“I will,” Stiles says, twisting to meet Derek’s eyes. “Hunters or no hunters, I hope you realize you’re not getting rid of me now.” 

It’s difficult not to doubt that, but--for once, Derek wants to let himself believe. “Okay,” he says, feeling foolish and amazed. “I don’t really want to get rid of you.”

Stiles looks extraordinarily smug. “Yeah, _duh._ ”

***

When Scott knocks on the door, Derek has to wake Stiles up and nudge his head out of his lap to get up to answer. They had dozed off watching something on TV, Derek doesn’t even remember what, and if it weren’t one of his pack then Derek would definitely be ignoring someone at the door. 

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to come over when Stiles was here. But--it’s just as well, I guess.” Scott takes a breath and looks Derek in the eye. “We haven’t found any trace of the hunters since three days ago. I just got back from their headquarters, and they’ve completely cleared out. I think they’re gone, and you’re safe.”

Derek is horrified at himself: he had actually forgotten that a threat was imminent--had been imminent, apparently. Jesus christ, he needs to find a way to manage his time with Stiles without letting his guard down so badly. “Oh. That’s good.”

Scott reaches out to squeeze Derek’s shoulder, which is--not quite the first time Scott has touched him out of affection rather than necessity, but close. “I know how difficult this was for you. I mean--we all felt terrible about asking you to do it, and--and we’re all just grateful. I hope you know that. We were so worried we were going to lose you.”

Derek can’t maintain eye contact when Scott mentions this being difficult. He hopes he’s not projecting his embarrassment enough for Scott to smell it. “Yeah.”

“Seriously, I--I’m kind of proud of you,. There was definitely a time when you would’ve been too stubborn to try this kind of solution, and you got past that for the sake of the pack and I want you to know that we all recognize what a big deal that is. It’s important.”

This is clearly a speech that Scott has practiced, and before Derek can possibly figure out how to respond, Scott is actually pulling him in for a hug, and Derek has to figure out how to respond to that instead. 

“Yeah,” Derek says again, patting Scott on the back while Scott embraces him.

“Hey, since Stiles is here, I have to thank him, too,” Scott says, breaking the hug and sliding past Derek to go inside.

Stiles is pushing himself up to a sitting position, yawning and stretching, half his hair sticking up at an odd angle. “‘Sup?”

“You are my hero and you have saved a life,” Scott says, holding out his fist to be bumped. 

Stiles blinks and bumps Scott’s fist distractedly. “Oh, uh, the hunters are gone? Just like that.”

“Yeah! Honestly, we weren’t sure it would work,” Scott says, shooting a guilty glance at Derek, “But I think they just got bored and left to find some werewolves that were less, uh, ‘domesticated by humans’ was the phrase Allison used. So dude, seriously, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Derek bristles at domestication reference, but Stiles snorts on a laugh and says, “Oh, well, no worries, it was my pleasure.” He meets Derek’s eyes, and Derek supposes he should be grateful that Stiles isn’t acting even more entertained by this.

“So--right, things can go back to normal, then.” Scott glances at Derek, then back at Stiles, and Derek can actually see the moment when he decides he doesn’t want to ask about it. “I’ll just see you guys later then.”

Stiles starts laughing before Derek has even fully closed the door behind Scott. “He’s so grateful! Dude, he’s _so grateful_ , did you see that, he’s acting like we just threw ourselves on a grenade for the sake of the team. Do you think we can use the guilt and gratitude to make him buy us stuff?”

Derek shakes his head. “The hunters are gone,” he says, mostly to himself. He tries to remember his life three weeks ago, when he thought his life was as normal as it could ever get, when he’d settled in for a long summer of grouching at his teenaged betas and fixing up his house and not seeing much of Stiles at all. 

“Hey, you’re not gonna get weird now, are you?” Stiles says when he’s finished laughing. “You have this look on your face like you’re about to have an emotional crisis.”

Derek sits down on the sofa chair opposite the couch, avoiding Stiles’ eyes. ‘Now that we don’t, uh, have to anymore, do you--you still want--”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, you fucking moron,” Stiles says, and Derek knows he’s rolling his eyes even without looking at him. “Come on, you already know the answer. You know that I do.”

Despite himself, Derek laughs, and any anxiety that Scott’s visit gave him lifts so easily that maybe it was never really there in the first place. Stiles is right: Derek already knew.


End file.
